


Sleepless

by BloodStones



Series: RIP AND TEAR [3]
Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Chapter two is the reader comfort, Doom has a nightmare in chapter one, Emotional Whump, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other, some fluff to break up the gore and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodStones/pseuds/BloodStones
Summary: Slayer cant sleep
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Reader, Doom Slayer | Doomguy/You
Series: RIP AND TEAR [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027882
Kudos: 16





	Sleepless

The Slayer can feel the heat of hell lick at what little exposed skin he has. The sweat falls into his eyes and down his neck. He can taste the sulfur in the air. A taste that lingers on his tongue. He can hear the distant screams of the damned behind him. They call a name forgotten. He knows he cannot turn around, only move forward. No matter how loud or how close the screaming becomes, or how heavy the regrets become, he must move forward. Brave the fire and brimstone, brace the gnashing teeth and slashing claws of the demons. Destroy them. Rip and tear them apart; with bare hands if he must. They roar and they screech, but it does not drown out the ever-growing screams.

Days or eons pass. It's impossible to tell in this desolate world. The Slayer eviscerates every demon before him with no pity nor remorse. Imps made into puddles, zombies skulls crushed in with a sickening wet crunch. Barons and Tyrants, taken down with burning rage. None who stand before him stood long. Slain and destroyed. The screams grow louder and he keeps moving forward. 

Through barren hellscapes and putrid fleshy caverns, the slayer keeps moving forward. Driven by hatred, the vitriol fuel burning in his veins. Hotter than any flame hell can throw at him. No matter the force, he never falters, he cannot. He cannot fail. Not again. He must keep. Moving. Forward. No matter the battle, no matter the challenge. It is not an option to give up. It is not an option to get tired.

When you keep moving forward, eventually you hit a dead end. The Slayer is faced with nowhere else to go. A step forward means plummeting off a cliff into a churning ocean of bubbling magma. There are no more demons to slaughter. It's just him and the screaming damned. The fallen. The failed. No longer distant, but now all around him. He closes his eyes and grips the shotgun tighter. The mournful wailing deafening, loud enough to make his teeth rattle. He knows what will be there when he turns around. He knows some of the bloodied and bloated faces will be familiar, some strangers. Each of them twisted in agony and anger. Mockeries of what they once were. Empty eye sockets starring back at him. Black holes that if he looks too long will reflect the angry and twisted version of himself. They scream in agony, reaching out. Some of them roar with rage and claw at their own skin. Without words, they ask him why? Why did he let them die? Why didn't he save them? Why did he **fail** them?

There is no more forward. There is no escape as they surround him, faces passing by one by one yet among millions. Even with eyes closed, he can see them. Family and friends from a universe he was no longer a part of. Soldiers he led into a bloodbath. Argenta, who believed in him, and rallied behind him. The Sentinels who fought alongside him into Hell and were scattered to be slaughtered alone. The billions more of a new world all strangers whose voices joined the unholy chorus. 

He failed them all. Their death, their torment, their suffering unending till they are used as nothing more than cheap energy. Trapt in hell for eternity, Shells of themselves wandering until they eventually become the very demons he slaughters. All of it on his bloodstained hands because he didn't do enough. Wasn't fast enough. Smart enough. 

The sudden quiet is nearly as deafening as the noise. The Slayer opens his eyes. There is only silence. Silence and rabbit's head on a pike. Beady black eyes starring into his soul. The one death to symbolize billions. The one failure to remind him of all others. He stares back. His breathing, muffled in the helmet fogs the glass, but he can still clearly see the black eyes.

The ground beneath him begins to crumble, the only salvation is to grab onto the pike to keep from falling with it. The wood creaks under his weight. Writhing like maggots is a sea of the same tormented souls, now a part of Hell's rotting flesh that seems to attach to everything like cancer. They reach and claw for him, no longer wailing in despair but for vengeance. He's not sure if they're calling for him to enact it, or if they wish to tear it from his own flesh. They grab onto his boots to pull him into the undulating mass until an armored hand catches hold and pulls. The Slayer tries to keep a grip onto the pike, crying out Daisy's name in a voice garbled from eons of underuse. The pike falters and he is brought eye to eye with the rabbit's head. His grip slips and he is pulled beneath, staring up at a distant image of the earth, completely consumed. Another failure.

The dead fall silent, even as he sees their mouths still moving with each screech. He can only hear his own breathing echo and the beat of his heart in his ears. This is death. This is _true_ hell, one just for him. The Slayer does not fight the pull of the damned, letting them pull him deeper till the consumed earth is covered by the wall of flesh. Through the squirming mass, he can see familiar hands, reaching for him. It is not the same desperate clawing, these hands are open and reaching. He cannot move, even as _your_ face emerges from the flesh and hands grab the metal of his helm. For a moment he feels sanctuary like there is hope and reaches out to cup your cheek. The moment the armor makes contact, your flesh begins to rot away, eyes sinking in as a pale clawed hand drags you back.

The Slayer opens his eyes with a sharp inhale. He is awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two has the reader insert  
> -made some more minor edits


End file.
